


Light in the Shadows

by JAvatar



Category: Shadowrun
Genre: BDSM, F/F, F/M, Love, Master/Slave, Multi, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-24
Updated: 2019-09-26
Packaged: 2020-09-28 07:36:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20422298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JAvatar/pseuds/JAvatar
Summary: Not all who live in the shadows of the Corps, run in them. Some are unwilling or unable to be a wageslave, but are not fit to work against them either. This is the story of one such girl, trying to survive and find her own happiness, and those she meets along the way.





	1. Chapter 1

The world is, was, and will always be a bleak place. The corps run everything, no nation had a sovereign government anymore, private police forces carried more authority than anyone else. Since the dragons returned, as well as the other species, the world could have been bright, color and wonder filled, magic of the old races and technology of man blending to benefit the whole, but that is not what happened. Of course, there were those that fought the status quo, the unfair distribution of power and wealth, those that stuck to the shadows. This, however, is not about one of the Shadow Runners.  
  
Menagerie was an elf, growing up with her father Remie, wandering Europe. As a preteenager, her first encounters with the shadows was when her father came home with some fellow runners, and she was terrified. Remie was calm, gentle, explained why and what they did, and the girl understood, though could never do anything herself. But, that first night with those men, did show her something of herself.  
  
She found she loved, truly, to serve. It was just bringing the runners dinner, but the petite elf, hair a natural neon pink (if that was possible...it was. After all, dragons ran most of the corporations!), her body budding into womanhood. But, the smiles from those men as she served them hot soup sent a shiver through her body and brought the deepest blush she had ever had. At twelve, she knew the thrill of being appreciated for her service.  
  
When she was thirteen, her father came in as they were traveling through France, Menagerie running up to find the reason for why her father was so upset, and gasped as she saw the infant in his arms bleeding! Then, she realized, it wasn't a baby! Fully formed, proportioned as an adult, but was only a foot and a half tall! The poor girl's eyes had been slashed, the gouge across her face and nose. Both ears ripped off. And she was bleeding from her back. "A pixie," he explained. "She has something...wrong. It's like a sink-hole for magic." The two elves worked throughout the night trying to staunch the bleeding and get the wounds healed, as the poor creature cried throughout.  
  
Over the next two days, Menagerie was able to get the girl to open up, the pixie's name was Phylandra. It was as Remie had said, the poor thing was attacked by her village because of that quirk in her essence, making a sink hole. Certainly a detriment for any awakened being, for those made of almost pure magic.....Menagerie couldn't imagine! Phylandra tried, repeatedly, to say the elf's name, but ended up just shortening it to Mag. Remie was confused the first time Phylandra asked for Mag to come in, until he realized who the pixie meant, and the name just stuck.  
  
Finally, Remie had it lined up, they found a doc willing to work with extremely small scale cyber, getting Phylandra new eyes and ears. After the surgery, when she could once again see and hear properly, the pixie realized that negative aura had shrunk! So, she started working with Remie, training under him, living with him and Mag, earning more nuyen, retrofitting a great deal of her body, throwing herself into everything machine, becoming an excellent rigger and mechanic! Additionally, Remie officially adopted the pixie as his, the two girls unlikely but incredibly close sisters. And it made Menagerie laugh when it came to light that in spite of the incredibly small size, Phylandra was actually three years older than the elf.  
  
And, as Mag grew, she realized more and more, that thrill of doing a good job, that desire to please, that urge to serve and be acknowledged...that was who she was. So, on the night of her eighteenth birthday, she approached her father, and told him. He only had a soft smile for her, almost anticipating this, and gave her the number for a club, local. She went, saw, watched the leather and whips, the boys and girls on their knees, crawling, some used as literal furniture, and for the first time in her life felt she belonged. She had tried to wageslave, but it just wasn't right. And of course the shadows were right out. But this? Here? She found her siren's call, her muse, and her meaning of life all in one!  
  
Over the next few years, she just trained. How to please with her voice. The words. The mannerisms. How to dance. Sing. She quickly became very sought after, but with two strong runners waiting at home, she never felt the need to be taken, instead pleased enough to serve at the meetings and gatherings. But, eventually, even that was not enough, and she found one enclave that truly resonated with her. She had moved out, and the proudest day of her life, far from her sister's electric eyes, naked as the day she was born, took and locked a collar onto her neck, showing her as owned.  
  
But, these are the shadows, and happily ever after is a rare thing, if ever. Less than a year later, Mag despising those that held the key to her lock, unable to buy her way out, was saved, as Lonestar raided the compound. She was easily proven to be a poor victim of their meta-traffiking ring, lock sheared away, free to be her own again, both thankful that she was free but missing the security of belonging. She had been forcibly moved to Seattle at this point, and called up her father. "Well, my dear, I...do know someone. They dabble, he's what we call a fixer. You'll be safe. And he has a club." He was obviously uncomfortable discussing this with his daughter, but carried forward, "Sex club. Yes."  
  
Soon, she was in the office, a troll looking her over, "No tattoos, just dyed hair," but she interrupted, "No sir. This is natural." Taking it in stride, he discussed what she was looking for. Mid-interview, the door slammed open, a rough looking red-head wearing an eyepatch came in, cursing, but stopped at seeing Mag. "Yes, Glenda, I KNOW that deadbeat still hasn't paid. Now, be nice in front of Mag. I think...I think we have someone special here." And that same rush, of being pleasing, sent goosebumps over the elf's skin.  
  
  



	2. The Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life starts to change for the little dancer.

For three years, Menagerie was able to dance, serve, and made a decent wage. The club was, in essence, a bar with live entertainment and gave the patrons the ability to have sex. No one was ever forced, only doing whatever they wished. The ground floor had room for dancing, with cages for gogo dancers, the bar, billiards, and a raised stage that was for shows. Many times, the petite elf was bound on that stage, being whipped, candles used on her skin, or simply fucked raw. And she got the same thrill at serving, at being used, at pleasing. But, during those years, that thrill never was deep enough.  
  
Certainly, she managed to hit subspace. Miranda, moderate height but with raven hair and a deep accent, the professional dominatrix, paid to put the elf through her paces on many occasions. But with Miranda, it was just a show. The raven haired domme kept the cool professionalism even during the three hour session that left Mag weak in her knees for days. After the session was over, Miranda just turned...off. Distant. A friend, but little more. There was Chelsey, the ork girl who knew all the passionate, hard, intense and loud ways to fuck boys and girls, making them putty in her hands. But for her, it was always just a fling.  
  
And the clients and patrons, many used her. Quite a few just to watch a dance. Many fucked her, of course. And since a good portion of those clients were runners, there was no shortage of that hard, dangerous edge. But them calling her Marge, Mang, Mergi, Molly, and Moop(yes, one actually called her Moop!), all showed that none of them would be a solid partner. And, if she were honest, she would not want to be with a runner. She loved her father and sister, and they never lost their meta-humanity. They had their darkness and hardness, and would kill if needed, without question, but they were still good, gentle people. Most of the runners that came in, saw even someone like her, no wageslave, as little more than a potential body.  
  
Along the far wall of the club, were a row of private rooms, some with glass walls, allowing the clients a sense of seclusion, and many of the rooms were set for it. The club also had a second floor, the Boss's office there, which led to a hall. This hall was the private rooms, The Boss had one room, the on-location doctor, a dwarf sawbones, had another. Glenda, Miranda, Chelsey, and a good number of the more permanent dancers had their own room, to include Menagerie. Hers was bare, only with the full sized bed, her vanity, and a full wardrobe, with one door that led to a bathroom with a shower and toilet. Incredibly bare, but for her, perfect. It was enough. The vanity had all her makeup, and the mirror doubled as a trid screen. The wardrobe had all her street clothes and dancing outfits. There was a kitchen down the hall, which she used to cook for everyone quite often. The only thing that kept the room from being "just occupied," the only thing that personalized the room, were two pictures tucked into the frame of the mirror, old print style. The first was a picture of the elf, her father, and adopted sister. The second, was the day she had been collared. In spite of the pain, the fear, and distrust that place had ended up hurting her with, being collared before it all went to shit was the proudest of her life.  
  
It was lovely, in spite of missing that final OOMF, that final sense of belonging. And for three years, she was content.  
  
It was like any other early evening, the club beginning to fill in, dancers on the floor, girls and boys making their own shows on the tables, in the rooms, and in one case just up against the wall. On stage, a boy was tied to a St Andrew's Cross, being whipped by Chelsey, while a dwarf girl was sucking him off. Menagerie had finished showering after her own show, coming down and joining the throng on the dance floor, a thick posture collar on her neck, with sheer silks tied around her chest and groin, six inch heels raising her body to a moderate five and a half feet tall. She enjoyed the scent, the bodies around and against her, the throng lost in the music. Bodies coming in, bodies leaving. She caught the glimpse of a blonde shock of hair, it went to the bar, her still lost in that dance, before she heard the whistle, looking for Glenda, knowing the redhead only whistled for her, and only for a client, seeing the redhead at the bar with that blonde hair, bouncing her way over.


	3. The first pleasing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Menagerie meets and serves the one changing her life.

Mag bounced over to Glenda and the new client, almost skipping, today just feeling...good. When she finally reached the bar, she stood before Glenda and the new woman, hands instantly clasping behind her back, gaze dropping to the floor, "Yes Ma'am? How can I be of service?" She honestly figured that few clients, even ones that Glenda would bring her to, could truly appreciate what those words meant.  
  
The elf had taken a look before lowering her gaze, but barely enough of a glance to tell more than the fact that she was tall, tall even for a human, and was built thick. With her gaze down, she only saw movement as Glenda looked to the woman, then felt moreso than heard the words out of the woman's lips, "Heh, I like this one already." There was something.....intense about how she spoke that sent a wave of goosebumps over Menagerie's body, and a shiver up her spine, and she could feel her cheeks and nose redden from the blush spreading, lips pulling into a broad and sincere smile, "Thank you, Ma'am."  
  
Glenda nodded at the exchange, words to the elf, "She's new to the club, Mag. Make sure she remembers us." The elf nodded, turning, and looked up the blonde woman's body. Thick was certainly one word to describe her, though _powerhouse_ would be more appropriate. The woman's thighs looked like they could crush a watermelon, and even under the leather jacket and white tank top, the elf felt she could see the woman's abs. Her arms matched the rest of her body, looking like she could easily wrestle any ork, and quite a few of the trolls Menagerie had seen, before her eyes finally reached the other woman's own gaze, breath locked at what she saw, before yelping loudly as Glenda stood up and swatted her rear, hard. She saw, and felt, that she had the blonde woman's full attention, her new partner not even realizing Glenda had stood and walked off, the elf sliding up to the woman, voice low, not touching her yet, introducing herself fully. "I'm Menagerie. Don't ask, my parents were weird. But, I go by Mag." She grinned, still unsettled and excited. This woman had an...intensity about her that Mag had not seen in any other runner. The martial artists, the mages, the teched and cybered out samurai...they had their own edge, their own strength, but this new woman......it was on a whole different level. It felt raw, primal, almost like the elf was being stared down by a predatorial animal than a human being.  
  
She couldn't help herself, her lower lip vanishing between her teeth, something about this runner sending a thrill through her body she hadn't had in a long time. The blonde reached up, taking Menagerie's chin between finger and thumb, slowly licking her lips, before her voice, growling with obvious anticipation and pleasure, hit the elf's ears, "We are ganna have so much fun, Mag." The casual speech but absolute _this is how it is_ momentarily locked the elf's breath in her chest, eyes widening and smile deepening. She gave a soft nod, moving in ever so closer, her own voice just above a whisper, testing the waters, seeing what this woman wanted, "Would you like to start now and here? Or enjoy the club, maybe dance first? Or go to a room?" Her job, her purpose, was to please, and something about this woman made her WANT to do a great job, beyond her own desire to be pleasing. This drew a chuckle from the blonde, "Why don't you lead me to a room, Mag? As much as I just want to strip you now and fuck you, I kinda want you all to myself. Don't want others lookin' at ya."  
  
This drew another blush, lip sliding between her teeth. It wasn't possessive or jealous, but wanting to indulge. Passionate. The things that the elf had been missing all this time. This blonde runner was quickly drawing the elf's attention more than most had managed in years. She stepped away, the bells on her cuffs jingling softly, hips swaying, aiming to be pleasing even in her walk, reaching back for the woman's hand, leading her to one of the rooms, one of her favorites. The walls were clear glass, as was the door, though she had a trick up her sleeve. Once both were in, she turned to face the blonde, only barely surpressing her giddiness. Her client, "Soooo see through glass walls, huh?" She smirked at the appearance of the room, but the words drew Menagerie's grin to one of pure mischief. She slid the door closed, and knew that the walls had activated, though it took the blonde a moment to see what. There was a mirror on the opposite side of the club, and in it, she knew the blonde woman saw the walls shift to a near opaque, frosted glass, only giving hints of the two women's shadows. The elf lowered her face, but her eyes were up to the blonde, gauging her reaction, "We can see out, Miss, but they can't see in. Does this please you?"  
  



End file.
